


How it should've ended.

by honeythroughsunlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeythroughsunlight/pseuds/honeythroughsunlight
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 7





	1. Black-hair

Draco couldn’t sleep. It was a meeting that had happened a month back at Madam Malkin’s was keeping him up, even now.

There he was proudly having his first robes fitted when he noticed the boy. Scrawny with black, black hair that stuck out in every direction. Clearly he was begging for Draco to offer him his hand of friendship. Leadership, more like. From when he was young, Draco was used to impressing people. Eleven years old and he had already developed a knack for attracting lugheaded lackeys like Crabbe and Goyle, sons of his father’s friends. His father had been very clear about that from the beginning, he learnt to use his name, his status and his obvious class to make connections with and to influence anyone that he could. You can never have too many contacts. So he had confidently strode up to the boy and begun to make small talk. But shockingly the boy had seemed unimpressed by the lazy arrogance that so many admired. The boy had seemed bored, cold even. Draco didn’t know what to make of it. Obviously the boy was just stupid. Maybe even a filthy mudblood - that would explain why he was so uninterested. Or maybe, just maybe he actually hadn’t been taken with Draco. Maybe Draco had seemed unlikable to him. The thought was almost too preposterous to acknowledge. But in spite of that, Draco was disconcerted. And he was beyond irked at having been disconcerted for so many weeks over such a trivial matter. The grandfather clock in Draco’s huge mansion suddenly struck twelve, making him jump. Internally cursing himself, Draco resolved to put Black-hair out of his mind. There were a great many of his classmates-to-be to impress tomorrow on the big day and he couldn’t afford to lose sleep over a boy whose name he didn’t even know.

They were finally at the King’s Cross Station and Draco was having a hard time keeping his excitement in check. He knew that even the slightest crack in the careful, poised demeanor he had been raised to possess would earn that dreaded look of disapproval from his father, so as much as he wanted to run or jump or even laugh, he restrained it. Instead he wore the cool, sophisticated façade he wore everywhere. Until he saw Black-hair. Talking to some muggle man in a uniform, a snowy white owl perched on top of his trolley. Draco hastily turned his head away and quickened his pace, hoping black-hair hadn’t noticed him. He walked on, lost in thought until he bumped into his father.

"Draco, for Merlin’s sake,” his father seethed, looking around. “I didn’t raise you to get lost in your daydreams like some commoner.” 

"Sorry, Father,” Draco whispered, his cheeks flaming red. It was all Black-hair’s fault. His mother gave him a quiet, reassuring smile.

"It’s alright darling. You’ll just have to walk through this wall here and we’ll be at the platform.”

Draco quickly walked through the wall and stood before the Hogwarts Express as his father called for a porter to attend to his trunk. His own eagle owl that he named Salazar stared dolefully at him, out of his cage. After it had all been sorted, the Malfoy family said their goodbyes. There was no crying. Malfoys don't cry.

As Draco walked through the train, he saw Crabbe and Goyle sitting at a compartment, saving him a seat, just like he had told them to. They wouldn’t allow anyone else in their compartment, that had already been decided.

"Hello, boys,” he drawled automatically reverting to his swaggering manner again.

"Malfoy.” Crabbe said shortly and Goyle nodded. They didn’t usually do the talking, that was his job, but this time Crabbe had some news to share.

“Did you know Harry Potter is in our year? He’s coming to Hogwarts with us.”

"Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?” Draco asked incredulously. “Have you seen him?”

"Yeah Zabini pointed him out for us,” Goyle said smirking. “He was wearing his Grandmom’s clothing by the looks of it. Clouds of messy black hair too, sticking up in every possible direction-“Goyle went on but Draco had stopped listening. A look of horror descended on his face and abruptly cut Goyle in the middle of his description of the famous Harry Potter.

"Are you okay, Malfoy?” Crabbe asked tentatively.

“What? Oh yes, I’m alright, just…just surprised, that’s all,” Draco said quickly. But he had made up his mind. Instead of trying to forget him, like he had previously resolved to, Draco would try to make friends with him. Again. Black-hair would be a fool to not accept his friendship anyway. He wondered which compartment he was in. Maybe he could go check? No. How would that look? He would wait until they were in the castle and then he’d make his move.

“Crabbe, Goyle,” he said abruptly. “I think we should make friends with Harry Potter. Imagine the sort of reputation we’d get hanging around with The Boy Who Lived. It’s an opportunity that’s not to be missed now, is it?” Crabbe and Goyle exchanged glances and shrugged. Draco didn’t notice as he was deep in thought again. But suppose Harry Potter had already made friends with some commoner in his compartment? That just wouldn’t do.

"Alright get up.” He said standing up. “We’re going to talk to him now.”

Draco bustled along the corridor until he saw the unmistakable wild black hair he had seen so many times in his memory before. He strode up to the compartment and opened it. The conversation was going well until Draco had mentioned his name and the boy with dirt on his nose sitting opposite to Potter sniggered. Red hair and hand-me-down robes, this boy was definitely matched the description of the Weasley blood traitors his father had once mentioned. And that’s what he told him. But that evidently hadn’t been the smartest thing to say because it immediately brought that same cold look back on Potter’s face. And when Malfoy offered to be his friend, Potter had the audacity to outright reject him! Malfoy tried to save face and then the entire thing had almost turned into a fight. Disaster. The Potter boy was heaps more trouble than he was worth, Draco realized. He didn’t need friends who didn’t appreciate the value of his friendship or who weren’t grateful of the fact that he had noticed them. He didn’t need it. 

After the Sorting, Draco who had obviously been sorted to Slytherin ate his fill of dinner and followed the Prefect down to the dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle by his side. He hated the dungeons. He hated the damp, dark passageways and he hated that the common room and dormitories had no windows. He had been claustrophobic from when he was very young but his father had stamped it out of him by routinely locking him up in the closet until he calmed down and stopped screaming. So although he could manage the dungeons without panicking, he still hated them. But he pretended to delight in the dank, arcane aesthetic and quickly picked a bunk to lay down in. As he was about to drift off to sleep, the last thing that came to his mind was Potter. How much he hated Potter.


	2. How typical.

From the minute he woke up the next day, all anyone was talking about was Harry Potter. Wondering where he had been all the while, analyzing his walk, talk, his every expression, lamenting the fact that he hadn’t been chosen for Slytherin. It made Draco sick. How boring and insipid all their lives were if they had to pick through another’s with a fine tooth-comb for entertainment. Draco, very deliberately focused on his lessons and refused to participate in any of the Potter discussions. 

He loved Transfiguration and Charms. He already knew most of the spells having practiced them beforehand during the vacations but more importantly, he loved magic. He loved being the best and being looked up to and he loved magic for giving him a chance to excel. His most favourite subject however, was Potions. Not because it was the only class in the year that he had with Potter, in fact that was the only disadvantage. But in spite of that, he loved the feeling of creating something new out of supposedly random ingredients, something that made the effort worth it. The Potions master Severus Snape was his favourite teacher, mainly because he was partial to Draco but also becuase clearly hated Potter’s guts for some reason. In their first class, Snape had bullied Potter in front of the entire class and Draco had shook with suppressed laughter along with Crabbe and Goyle. Secretly, he hadn’t liked that Snape had picked on Potter without any reason but he wouldn’t let anyone else know that. He wouldn’t even admit that to himself, because Potter was his Sworn Enemy and anything that troubled Potter delighted Draco. He immensely enjoyed watching Potter’s low spirits as he left the classroom and overheard Weasley asking if he could accompany Potter to meet that oaf Hagrid. Draco wrinkled his nose and whispered to Crabbe and Goyle, “Ugh imagine being so desperate for company you’d even approach a stupid oaf like the Gamekeeper.”

Crabbe and Goyle nodded and guffawed even though they had no idea what Draco was talking about because they never took the effort to overhear Potters’s conversations, unlike Malfoy did. Not that they’d ever tell him that.

A few days later Malfoy awoke and made his way to the Common Room where he saw a notice pinned up. He skimmed through it quickly and read that the Gryiffindors and Slytherins would be having flying lessons togetether. His stomach unexpectedly made a feeble lurch and he wondered what he was feeling. Probably just excitement that he’d be able to show off his brilliant flying skills in front of Potter and prove how Purebloods were better than Halfbloods in every way. No it wasn’t even about Potter, Draco didn’t even care about him. He just wanted to fly. He talked to anyone who would listen about his exploits on his broomstick and unconsciously made his voice louder whenever Potter was around so that he would hear Draco and feel jealous about his upbringing in a magical family. Draco loved flying it was his most favourite thing to do. That explained the very uncharacteristically upbeat manner he had adopted until finally Thursday arrived and at 3:30 they made their way to the grounds where Madam Hooch was waiting.

Draco had immediately gotten his broom up and was dismayed to see that Potter had been effortlessly able to do that as well. And then Madam Hooch had the insolence to tell him that he had been holding his broomstick with the wrong grip all the while. What did she know? Probably another Mudblood with no idea how the magical world worked. He glanced at Potter and saw him sniggering at Draco’s embarrassment. Boiling hate filled every inch of Draco’s body. 

Suddenly that stupid Longbottom had injured himself - Draco didn’t even know how, he didn’t even care- and Madam Hooch was taking him off to the hospital wing. He badly needed an excuse to start a fight with Potter. So burst into laughter over Longbottom and was joined in by all the Slytherins. Potter was watching his every move carefully, his jet black hair flying this way and that in the wind. He suddenly noticed Longbottom’s Remembrall. Earlier the week Draco had been looking for Potter at the Gryffindor table when he saw them all crowding over Longbottom. "What’s caught the interest of the famous Potter now?” he had wondered out loud and set off for the Gryffindor Table. He had noticed that Potter never got any packages from anyone and was quick to boast about the large packages he always received from home. When saw that Longbottom was holding a Remembrall, he had snatched it up hoping for a reason to pick a fight with Potter but McGonagall had spoiled his plans. Well, this was another opportunity and there was no one to stop him.

He picked up the Remembrall and like he had expected, Potter quietly said “Give that here Malfoy.” Like Draco was just going to hand it over. He soared up as skillfully as he could and raised his eyebrows at Potter from his broom.

"Come and get it, Potter!” he sang and caught the quick, grudging look of surprise and admiration of his flying skills in Potter’s eyes. But a second later his eyes hardened Potter got on his broom and easily flew to Draco’s height. That worried him. He had been counting on Potter’s inexperience but Potter was annoyingly good despite it being his first time on a broom. Potter suddenly flew at him very quickly and Draco got away in the nick of time.

“He really doesn’t care if I get hurt,” Draco thought morosely and threw the Remembrall high up. Let it fall, let it break. Who cares? But brilliant Potter, with his brilliant skills had dived just in time to catch the Remembrall just before it hit the ground. Never had Draco thought it were possible for a first year to show that much control over a broom. And evidently McGonagall had thought the same thing. At first Draco was sure that she would chew Potter out, but the news filtered around the school that Potter was the youngest house player in about a century. So instead of getting detention, he had gotten into the team. How typical. Potter could do nothing wrong in the eyes of these star-struck people.

Anyway, it was almost midnight and Draco had very cleverly challenged Potter to a duel. A duel that he wouldn’t be attending. At least this if nothing else would get Potter into trouble. He gleefully waited until the clock struck twelve and then realizing that there was nothing else he could really do, he went asleep with the comforting thought that Potter would finally get expelled or at the very least land detention. 

However the next morning as Draco happily skipped to the Great Hall, he saw to his utter shock that Potter and that red-haired Weasley were still in school, looking unperturbedly cheerful. Silently cursing them and cursing whatever had happened to spoil his plan, he busied himself in all his classes and tried to put Potter out of his mind. 

A week later, as Draco made his routine survey of the Gryffindor table, six large owls had swooped in holding a long thin package for Potter. Draco immediately knew it was a broomstick and furiously turned to Crabbe and Goyle.

“I want to make sure that the package is what I think it is, so we have to intercept Potter before he gets away.” The three of them went to the staircase and stood there blocking it, awkwardly waiting for Potter to come. A few minutes late Potter and Weasley did indeed rush towards them and Draco quickly feeling the package knew without a doubt that it was a broomstick.

“It’s not any old broomstick, it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand,” Weasley gloated. Just then Professor Flitwick had come and Draco, quickly seizing his chance, told on Potter. But Flitwick outrageously told him that McGonagall had allowed special permission for Potter to possess the best broom in the market. Of course she had. How typical. Perfect Potter could do absolutely nothing wrong now could he? What Draco wouldn’t give to punch him in his very green eyes.


	3. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people. I just realised that I suck at writing 3rd person so from now it's going to be first person and I swear I'll edit the first two chapters as soon as I get time. So...bear with me and enjoyyyyyy.

Draco

It’s been two months at Hogwarts now and I like the dungeons a little bit better. It’s quiet at least and now that it’s Halloween ours looks the best amongst all the house common rooms. We’ve got real live bats hanging from the ceiling – they like it here- and the Bloody Baron is by far the most impressive House Ghost, so if there were a competition Slytherin would easily win best Halloween decorations.  
We’ve been learning the Levitation spell in Charms and I must say, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I can barely comprehend how Crabbe and Goyle manage to find the simplest spells impossible to perform. Maybe I need better company.  
At breakfast today that absolute glutton-head Potter is gorging himself on jacket- potatoes when Quirrel runs into the Great Hall and says something about a troll in the dungeons before he faints. Everyone goes off their trolley, starts screaming and running around like that’s going to help. Dumbledore tells the Prefects to lead us back to our dorms, conveniently ignoring the fact that the dungeons ARE our dorms. I always knew he hated the Slytherins. Professor Snape - the only person with any sense - comes to us and tells us to stay right there in the Hall but I’m not really listening to him because Potter and that Weasley are running off in the opposite direction, somewhere towards the girls’ bathrooms. Why can’t Potter just listen to instructions for once? Let him get killed. He deserves it, that twit, see if I care. 

About half an hour later Dumbledore walks into the Hall and says, “The situation has been sorted, you may resume your classes, please."

He's got that maddening look like he’s quietly laughing about some inside joke only a smart person would get. I hate that expression he always has- like a benign, nothing bothers me, I can see through you sort of mad expression. He really is mad, father has always said so. Suddenly Parkinson comes running, panting breathlessly.“I heard that horrible Granger girl was stuck in the girls’ bathroom and the troll got in somehow and Potter and the red-haired one went in and saved her-“

"Well that’s rubbish,” I say quickly. "Potter’s just looking for attention like always and prats like you, who have no life of their own, are always giving it to him.”

Parkinson looked so offended but I can’t help it. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people gushing over Potter making him out to be some kind of Good Samaritan just for existing. I swear that twit is all reputation, no real talent. I see him running excitedly to Charms with Weasley, his hair pushed back, that stupid scar on his forehead and it’s all I can do not to run after him and hit him in the face. Well at least the Quidditch season’s beginning soon, everyone will know just how talented he really is when a bludger knocks him off his broom.

It’s finally the day of the first Inter-house Quidditch match and by sheer luck it’s Slytherin versus Gryffindor. I absolutely cannot wait until this is over so I can taunt Potter to the point of driving him mad. I really do hate him. At breakfast, he was looking so green I thought he was going to throw up. It’s the first time I’ve not seen him pigging out at mealtimes like as if he’d been starving all his life. Maybe he has, he’s so thin I could fit my fingers around his bicep. Maybe. I haven’t really given it a lot of thought. Anyway.

"Want to nip off to the loo and finish throwing up Potter? You don’t want to barf on the pitch, it won’t be pretty!” I yell as he passes by me, just to irk him.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” The Granger muggle-born speaks for him when it’s clear Potter is too busy studiously keeping his jaws clamped to retort. I mime him exaggeratedly barfing all over the Great Hall, earn raucous laughter from the Slytherin table and make off to the pitch feeling satisfied but also feeling a little weird. 

Lee Jordan is commentating and as much as I’d rather die than admit it to anyone else, his voice is probably the best voice I’ve ever heard. And his dreadlocks look wicked. He’s a third year and a Gryffindor at that so it’s not like I’m thinking of getting all chummy with him or something but if he were in Slytherin I’d probably talk to him. Probably. Or maybe he’s muggle-born scum. Suddenly I realise why I’ve been feeling weird. It made absolutely no one sense that the entire Slytherin table had been watching me insult Potter, especially since the Slytherin table is way on the other side of the Hall. I wonder what had interested them so much. My thoughts are interrupted by the moment I’ve been waiting for- Potter’s arrival on the pitch.  
He’s as green as I saw him at breakfast but I can see that he’s trying hard not to look nervous. Flint leers at him – good man – and suddenly Madam Hooch blows the whistle and they’re off. It would be childish to pretend he’s rubbish at Quidditch so I’ll just say he’s not bad. At all. He’s just gliding above all the players, looking at home on his brilliant Nimbus, hunting for the snitch. I watch his every movement just waiting for him to slip up but he seems incredibly, annoyingly comfortable on the broom until suddenly his eyes go wide and he swoops down like Salazar, my eagle, when he finds his prey. He’s almost there, way ahead of Higgs, almost at the snitch when Flint blocks him and nearly sends Potter flying off his broom. I start and I’m about to yell at Flint when I realise I’m supporting Slytherin. That would’ve been embarrassing.

Jordan is screaming into his mic, dreadlocks whipping around furiously but I spare him only a glance before I focus again on Potter who’s desperately looking for the snitch he lost in all this confusion. He looks disappointed as Madam Hooch blows her whistle, rewarding Gryffindor with a free throw. Then Potter gets this determined look that he gets sometimes like when I was fooling around with Longbottom’s Remembrall, and he throws himself into the game with renewed fervor. I’m following him with my binoculars and he’s just dodged this Bludger when suddenly his broomstick lurches. His face goes white and he’s holding on to his broomstick that’s just outright trying to throw him off now. I’ve never seen or even heard anything like it before. It takes me a minute before I realise I’m not supposed to be worried so I start whooping and laughing, pointing gleefully at the Boy Who Will Fall, hopefully to his death. None of the Slytherins had noticed him until I pointed him out and they took up my jeering and catcalling, cheering for him to fall. The broom bucks him off and he’s just hanging on with one hand now. I wonder what would happen if he fell from this height before I see the Weasley twins circling under him and quietly release the breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. Suddenly Potter’s broom stops vibrating and he climbs back onto his it in a deft fluid movement and immediately randomly starts speeding to the ground. I subconsciously stand in my seat, binoculars pressed to my eyes, and watch as he clamps his hands to his mouth, crashing into the ground in all fours. I knew he’d be sick, I knew it before he even walked onto the pitch. I even told him.But suddenly, he’s sitting up, those stupid glasses askew, beaming loudly and screaming “I’ve got the Snitch!”

What?”

"No way?”

“What’s happening?”

All the Slytherins are bellowing and everyone is confused, Lee Jordan is screaming “VICTORYYYYYYYYY” into the mic but Potter is laughing to himself, happy and more carefree than I’ve ever seen him before. His teammates crowd around him and lift him up, sprinting to the Changing rooms and for the first time since Potter walked onto the pitch, I put my binoculars down.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco 

I CANNOT believe the Slytherins. For weeks they’ve been going on and on about how brilliant Potter handled his jinxed broomstick, how he managed to stay on and win the game, how he’s the saint none of us deserve- what utter rubbish. Usually my Harry Potter exaggerated imitations send everyone wheezing with laughter but suddenly they’re all like “Draco, he had the skill to survive and win, you’ve gotta give him THAT, don’t you?” Ugh, whatever. It really doesn’t matter now.  
Christmas is coming and Potter doesn’t have anywhere to go. I almost feel sorry for him but then again he seriously deserves to feel like he isn’t wanted by anyone, to make up for all the attention he gets at school. At Potions I said very loudly that I felt sorry for all those staying back at Hogwarts but Potter ignored me. The audacity. I know he was hurt he just pretends that he’s above all my insults. 

As I’m walking out of Potions, still thinking of a way to get Potter’s attention, I notice that the big oaf of a gamekeeper has left this large fir tree right in our corridor, blocking everyone’s path. I mean I always knew he was dim-witted but seriously this is a bit too on the nose. Potter and that Weasley are talking to the oaf, asking if he needs help. I walk up to Weasley and poke where I know it hurts him most- insulting his family. It doesn’t really give me any real joy, but Potter always gets this feisty look in his eyes when I come at his best friend and I’m just looking for ways to get him into trouble so it’s all worth it. I go on about how his family lives in a hut smaller than the Gamekeeper’s and then I’m thinking of starting on his muggle-loving father. But before I know what’s happening the red-haired blood traitor has caught hold of my robes. I know he’s rubbish at magic so I reach for my wand to jinx him but unfortunately Professor Snape walks in and takes five points from Gryffindor. Potter opens his mouth indignantly, looking like he’s about to argue, but a second later seems to think better of it. Instead he looks right at me, loathing in his eyes. I smirk and deliberately push past him as I walk by, surprised by how firmly he stands his ground despite his slight figure. “I’ll get him,” Weasley growls and I roll my eyes as I make my way to the dungeons. 

On the way back home, I spend the entire Hogwarts Express ride thinking about ways to get Potter expelled. Blasie Zabini is also in our compartment because I quickly realized that I’d go mad if I had only Crabbe and Goyle to keep me company throughout the ride.

“You know,“ Zabini says, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I’ve noticed Potter, Weasley and that mudblood Granger hanging out in the library very often, ever since they won the Quidditch Match. It all looks a little suspicious, doesn’t it?”

I frown at Blaise for mentioning the match that must never be mentioned, but I think about what he said. It was true, Potter had been in the library an awful lot, but I had never noticed that Weasley and Granger had been with him as well. Why would I? My prime focus is Potter. I really hate Potter. So anyway, that meant the three of them were planning something together. Something that might potentially get them in trouble, seeing how Gryffindors rarely showed interest in things that didn’t mortally danger their lives. Potter might even get hurt. No, the Granger girl had some sense, she’d make sure Potter was okay. Not that I care. In fact I’d jump for joy if Potter even got a hangnail, he deserves any unpleasantness that could possible come his way.

“Boys,” I declare loudly, “We’ve got to see what he’s up to.”

“What THEY’RE up to,” Blaise corrects me, sounding very proud of himself. 

“Whatever,” I mutter rolling my eyes. Crabbe and Goyle are grunting and nodding which is literally the most anyone could expect of them at any given time. I lean back in my seat and wonder what Potter’s doing right now. I wonder if he’ll get any presents from anyone apart from Weasley and Granger. 

Harry  
It’s finally Christmas! It’s the first one I’ve ever celebrated with anything even close to family, and all because Ron decided to stay back with me. The common room is so uncharacteristically quiet and Ron and I get all the good armchairs by the fire. We’ve made it a game to roast anything edible over the fireplace and see whether it tastes better or worse. Hermione would be really annoyed that we aren’t using our time to research about Nicholas Flamel, but we aren’t all meta-humans like her. Ron and I have decided we’ll take a good rest before getting back on the grind. All we talk about is Malfoy and how to get him expelled. Malfoy is the most evil little slimeball I’ve ever had the pleasure to know and I can never spend enough time complaining about him to Ron. I think he might be my only mortal enemy in the world. 

I wake up Christmas morning and find PRESENTS! It’s the first time I’ve ever gotten presents in my whole entire life, the Dursleys just ignored me during Christmas like they usually did every other day of the year. I get decent gifts from Ron, Hagrid, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley but the best by far is the invisibility cloak sent to me anonymously. I read the handwriting on the card attached over and over but I haven’t seen it before. It’s unsettling to think this cloak was once held by my dad, I can’t seem to get my head around it. As I’m sitting at the table for breakfast, a large eagle owl swoops down and drops a large package on my lap.

“Oh, who’s this from?” Ron exclaims but I already know it’s from Malfoy. He’s the only one in the year with a sodding EAGLE owl. It’s like he’s physically incapable of emphasizing on his wealth, whatever he owns.

“It’s Malfoy’s,” I tell Ron, distastefully.

"What’s Malfoy giving you presents for?” Ron asks nonplussedly. For some reason my face heats up and I hastily start ranting about Malfoy to cover up that weird moment.

“It’s probably some sick joke Ron. You know him, he feels like any moment spent not stirring up drama is a moment wasted. He’s so extra he makes me want to puke, Ron. I really hate him I-“

Harry, mate, calm down!” Ron says laughing. “Just forget about him now, he’s not even here. Don’t let him spoil you mood. Throw that parcel in the bin, first thing after breakfast”

I don’t throw it though. As soon as breakfast’s done, I make some lame excuse and run up to the dorm. Ron’s looking at me suspiously but he doesn’t question anything. I quickly run up to the dorm and open the parcel at an arm’s length and it EXPLODES. I throw my hands in front of my face and realise that it’s a GLITTER BOMB. “Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake!” I shriek out loud but I’m laughing. It’s actually kind of ingenious. The glitter’s gotten everywhere, on my sheets, my hangings, my hair – everywhere. And glitter is SO hard to get off. I have to give this one to him.  
Anyway, all in all it’s the best Christmas I’ve ever had, and we haven’t even eaten Christmas dinner yet. I sit back contentedly on my glitter covered bed, running my hands through my hair to get most of the glitter off. I wonder how Malfoy’s celebrating Christmas.


End file.
